


(formerly)

by inexorableformation



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Parent Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Post-Overwatch Recall, References to Illness, Reunions, im gonna put a lil warning in the notes about the minor character im not tagging here, this is a vent fic in a way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28369920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inexorableformation/pseuds/inexorableformation
Summary: a brief return to the place before- one meaningless reunion, one that carries weight
Relationships: Jesse McCree & Reaper | Gabriel Reyes
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30





	(formerly)

**Author's Note:**

> the minor character i didnt tag in this is soldier and by his absence from literally everything else ive written u'll probably guess i am very much not a fan of him. i dont think this is character bashing but i do feel i should put a warning at the start for people who care about him that u will not find him and reaper reconciling here 
> 
> anyway i love reaper overwatch and his cowboy son who he is very proud of  
> also im a huge fan of the hc that mccree is like. a super easy crier and just goes ;-; at literally everything bc thats very cute

They're almost done and Reaper glances over to the door for the third time in half a minute. There's tension in his muscles but also the smoke, the void that is part of him. Overwatch has their eyes on him and as soon as the transfer is done he turns on his heel and goes to leave.

"Good to see you back on this side," Morrison says behind him and Reaper doesn't turn but halts in his tracks. "Have you talked to the doc at all?"

"What about?"

A pause. A long silence. The anger gathers, as it does, as it should. Morrison clears his throat.

"There might be some way to fix you, still."

Somehow betrayal still hurts. Reaper turns back. Seethes, live wire, upset. Down to the bone, still.

"You can't fucking _fix_ me," he snaps. "There's no switch to flip or magic cure for me."

"You don't know that for sure."

It stings. Reaper sneers, at no one. He's exhausted. He's tired. His shoulders drop and the dull throb of pain numbs the spark of fury.

"You don't even understand the fucking issue," he says. "You pretend there is a way to bring back who I was because if this, if this version of me is a monster that needs saving then there's nothing you ever did wrong. You pretend you lost your friend to some vague science bullshit and not the fact that you were so obsessed with being right that you stopped listening to me years before Overwatch ever fell."

Morrison takes a moment.

"You were paranoid."

"And I was right to be," Reaper counters immediately. "Fucking own up to that at least. You owe me that much. I tried to tell you time and time again that they were already on the inside and you did nothing because someone less angry than me had a different story."

"But-"

McCree, on the other side of the room, quiet so far, clears his throat. Shock, cold, overpowering. Reaper swallows the static.

"You heard him," McCree says and shrugs. "He doesn't need to be fixed. Or are you not gonna listen this time around either, _Strike Commander_?"

Morrison doesn't reply. Stunned out of it. Stunned as Reaper is, too, until McCree turns to him.

"Boss, I'd- can we talk?"

"Yes," Reaper says and as soon as McCree moves he follows, out the door and back into the open space surrounding the base, the clear air and late afternoon breeze. Reaper breathes freely. McCree leads him away from the main building, up a hill, up to the cliffs and the roof of the old armory.

"In case you were wonderin', I don't actually live here or anythin'. Just occasionally check on folks. You picked a bad time to drop in, honestly, considerin' Fareeha and Genji just left. I reckon they'd have wanted to see you."

"You're here," Reaper says and his throat feels rougher than usual. "And apparently not fond of authority still."

McCree plops down on the roof. Pats the space at his side and Reaper sits with him.

"Always wanted to yell at the guy like that," McCree admits and snorts. "Always had it comin'. Just woulda lost my job for it back in the day."

Reaper laughs under his breath.

"I wouldn't have fired you for that."

"You, no. Everyone else? Probably."

"Yeah, look how everyone else turned out," Reaper says. "And you're still around and _dispensin' justice_."

"You sayin' I got silly ideals, boss?"

"I'm saying I'm really proud of you."

McCree tears up before he can reach to wipe his eyes, presses a metal palm to his mouth just in time to stifle a sob. His shoulders shake, though, and Reaper's first instinct is to reach out, comfort, embrace him like he did the traumatized child admitting he thought of him as his father. Reaper doesn't.

"Fuck," McCree says. "Fuck, sorry, that just- that got me good."

"I can tell."

"You ain't even jokin'. That's the worst part. Or the best, I suppose."

Reaper takes a deep breath. Steels his nerves.

"I _am_ proud of you. I've never not been proud of you. I knew you were a good kid when I offered you the job but it- you got to be a great person. Didn't let Deadlock take that from you. Or anyone else."

It's a weight off his heart even before he finishes, heavy words. Too much and not enough. Reaper watches McCree's reaction, follows the journey of hurt to-

McCree hugs him. Abruptly, decisively, crying his eyes out silently until he's hiccuping with the force of it. Reaper wraps his arms around him. Easy. Familiar.

"Were you scared of me?" Reaper asks, quietly. "Of what happened to me?"

"Sorry."

"No, you gave me the benefit of the doubt, that's more than I could have asked."

"You're still my family," McCree mumbles. "I was hopin' there was a good explanation. Ain't like I wanted you to be evil. 'S not who you are."

It's not quite a punch to the gut but the dull ache of the illness gets overshadowed by Reaper's heart skipping three beats, his chest too tight. He can't cry, he knows he can't, but the smoke stings in his eyes like the tears would and the hitch in his breaths is still a sob.

"Aw," McCree says and scoots closer until Reaper can rest his chin on his head. "Boss, if you start cryin' I'm gonna cry, too. Like full on bawling into your coat."

" _If._ "

"'M already cryin' anyway. Might as well."

"Go all out."

"Don't get me started."

"Alright," Reaper says and strokes his palm up and down McCree's back before he even feels him start to shake. "It's okay, mijo, I'm here."

The wind picks up but doesn't muffle McCree starting to weep himself out. Reaper is calm, certain, feeling like his heart grows a size just being where he is. He repeats his words. Promises he intends to keep. The smoke stays in his lungs but it doesn't matter, doesn't matter at all.

"'M here, too," McCree mumbles. "You don't gotta carry all the burden by yourself again, y'know?"

"I know. And I appreciate it."

"Ask for help this time, okay?"

"I have," Reaper says and laughs at the warmth in his own voice before it breaks. "And I will. It does tend to work out better that way."

McCree huffs.

"Good."

"Good," Reaper echoes and hugs him tighter. "Thank you."


End file.
